Over the sea, past Crete, on the Syrian shore to the southward, Dwells in the well tilled lowland a dark haired AEthiop people, Skilful with needle and loom, and the arts of the dyer and carver, Skilful, but feeble of heart; for they know not the lords of Olympus, Lovers of men; neither broad browed Zeus, nor Pallas Athene, Teacher of wisdom to heroes, bestower of might in the battle; Share not the cunning of Hermes, nor list to the songs of Apollo. Fearing the stars of the sky, and the roll of the blue salt water, Fearing all things that have life in the womb of the seas and the livers, Eating no fish to this day, nor ploughing the main, like the Phoenics, Manful with black beaked ships, they abide in a sorrowful region, Vexed with the earthquake, and flame, and the sea floods, scourge of Poseidon. Whelming the dwellings of men, and the toils of the slow footed oxen, Drowning the barley and flax, and the hard earned gold of the harvest, Up to the hillside vines, and the pastures skirting the woodland, Inland the floods came yearly; and after the waters a monster, Bred of the slime, like the worms which are bred from the slime of the Nile bank, Shapeless, a terror to see; and by night it swam out to the seaward.
